


Between the Lines

by skylar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Genderbending, Het, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylar/pseuds/skylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  In which Silva and Bond were roommates, co-workers and friends with benefits.  It was a perfectly good partnership until Bond had to take a sex change medicine as part of his mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote AU because I wanted all the Silva/Bond fluff but these two didn't want to play nice.

Bond didn’t look well from where he was sitting half-curled up on the couch. Silva could see the slight trembles along his slender arms and the beads of perspiration dotting his temples and along the hairline. Either Bond had hidden it well at the MI6 base or the symptom hadn’t shown until they returned to the flat.

Silva looked away. He went to the kitchen and checked their medicine cabinet.

“Q said the side effects were due to the change in your body chemistry but they should be tolerable. You get used to it. If not, some painkiller should do the trick,” Silva reminded Bond even as he thought about the new mission.

Their target was a hacker named Vernon, who had breached the firewall and stolen some critical files from MI6. Eliminating him would have been easy but that wasn’t their objective. They weren’t only after the files but the name of his employer and the mole in MI6 who had helped him. Bond was to mingle with the prostitutes in an establishment Vernon often frequented and Silva was his support and backup. While MI6 had female operatives, they couldn’t risk the mission dispatching any of them because Vernon probably could recognize them by looks alone. It must be someone not on the current operative list, and the solution was a temporary sex change medicine from the Q division.

And Bond was Mommy’s favorite.

Now after procuring some pills, Silva fetched two glasses, filled up one with water and one with scotch before coming back to Bond and setting them both on the coffee table.

Bond looked up, eyed the glasses wordlessly and ignored the pills from him. Silva suddenly remembered the Vicodin stash Bond had and felt a bit foolish. Gently, he sat down next to Bond and tossed the pills in the trash bin, not even disappointed when Bond reached for the scotch and started gulping it in large mouthfuls.

The thing about Bond was that most of his problems could be solved with drugs and alcohol. Bond enjoyed them way too much that sometimes Silva almost worried about his liver, not that Silva believed Bond would be lucky to live long enough to experience liver failure. The low morality rate was the charm of the profession.

When Bond was done drinking, Silva took the empty glass from Bond and passed him the water. “Drink this up too when you’re done.”

Bond shook his head and looked at him, his face heated as if at a few hundred pounds lighter, his new body didn’t tolerate the alcohol as well. That or it was just the medicine.

Again, Silva looked away.

“I was wondering when you would start laughing at me,” Bond said after some time. His voice had changed in both tone and timber. So feminine. Silva tried not to think too much about that, but the fact that those words were the first thing Bond had said to him since his transformation.

“Because of your new looks?” Silva questioned and sipped some water to wet his sudden dry throat before returning it to the table.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Bond nodding and uncurling his arms around himself. “You have been avoiding looking at me the entire day.” A bitter laugh escaped him.

There was a misunderstanding here, misunderstanding that Silva didn’t need to resolve.

“Maybe I have but not for the reason you are thinking about.”

Hesitantly, Silva wrapped an arm around Bond’s narrow shoulders and tried to pull him close. In response, Bond tensed up because this kind of physical touching outside the bedroom was new. Silva considered moving away to maintain their current relationship but Bond needed this.

He needed this.

“Then what is it?” Bond asked tiredly and added as an afterthought. “No, you don’t have to answer that question.”

A few brief seconds after, Bond rested his head on Silva’s shoulder, the tension in his body slowly bleeding out until they were pressed against each other side by side with Bond’s breath ghosting over the bare skin of his neck. They settled into a moment of silent comfort.

By now, they had known each other for over three years and lived together for two. There was this mutual unspoken agreement that their post-mission fuck was nothing more than harmless fun and stress relief between two single adults. Silva hadn’t let himself dwell on the truth that his feelings for Bond ran deeper than mere physical attraction, but this Bond with the appearance of a woman made him want something more substantial—love, children, and a family, things that he’d long forgotten after his parents passed away when he was eight.

“Do you know how my evaluation test went?” Bond murmured in a low and throaty voice after some time.

“The assignment is yours, Bond. The result of your test doesn’t matter.”

Unless it might get Bond killed, but M didn’t care because they ran out of options.

Silva took Bond’s hand in his and inspected his palm. Bond’s hand was a lot smaller than before, his fingers long and thin although the nails were short and the gun calluses remained, the proof that Bond was a killer just like him regardless of his looks.

Silva planted a brief kiss on the back of Bond’s hand and caught Bond looking with evident intention. Typically, Bond would mistake the innocent gesture for sexual advance because to Bond, sex was as much a weapon as his revolver was to achieve his goal. And at the moment, his goal was to win Silva’s approval as if he hadn’t had Silva’s heart in his hand already.

Bond could be so dense when it came to other people’s feelings.

As expected, Bond shifted to his knees and in one graceful move, straddled Silva’s thighs and titled Silva’s face up so that he had no choice but to gaze into Bond’s eyes.

The kiss was more aggressive and rougher than necessary as if Bond wanted to reassert his masculinity. Slipping his hands into Bond’s short hair, Silva kissed Bond back sweetly while slowly wrestling control away from him until Bond was melting into him and sucking softly on his tongue.

Once they parted, Silva touched Bond’s bottom lip with an index finger and traced the shape of Bond’s face. His bone structure had changed, the line of his jaw curving gently, his cheekbones higher, and his nose narrow and straight. Silva could recognize him by the curve of his lips and the shade of his piercing eyes, which ironically hid much of the real him. Other people might look at Bond now and think of him as an attractive woman with strong features and an even stronger spirit. Silva saw a self-loathing and damaged soul buried deep below those defensive layers. She had made Bond like this, turned Bond into a perfect killing machine desensitized to violence and death. And yet, he couldn’t hate her for it because she was like his mother.

“Are you done looking?” Bond raised an eyebrow at him.

Silva slipped under Bond’s oversized shirt to touch the bare skin of his stomach as he felt himself stir in interest. “Are you sure about this? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, I’m positive,” Bond answered resolutely. “I need to prepare for the mission.”

Speechless, Silva pushed Bond easily to one side and stood up. Of course, he should have known.

“Silva…”

“Shut up, Bond.”

Clenching his fists together, Silva resisted the urge to turn and shake him until he understood. He chose to walk away to his room.

***

After taking a cold shower that left him numb and still angry, he put on a pair of sleep pants and grabbed a beer bottle from the mini fridge on the way to the window. He uncorked it and took a swish, then two. The night wasn’t that cold for a November evening and with the bitter drink burning hotly down his throat and his stomach, it turned quite warm. The night breeze blowing haltingly through the window was as much a welcoming respite as the quietness from the crowded city sparkling ten floors below and beyond.

With his measly salary, the place cost more than he could afford. On a whim, he had asked Bond to move in with him when he knew Bond was living in a hotel. He didn’t expect Bond to accept the invitation. It ended up being a perfect arrangement not only because of the financial advantage but because of his invested interest in Bond.

Silva laughed to himself. He couldn’t remember if his interest was born out of attraction or jealousy and bitterness after his falling out of M’s favor. Bond was younger, efficient, more serious, ruthless and loyal to a fault. He charmed and fooled everyone around him with his looks, his control and his confidence. Little did they know that when Bond wasn’t on a mission, he had troubles adjusting to civilian life as if his 007 and Bond identities had long blended into one. There were times he would shut himself in his room and refuse to talk, or sit in the darkness and drown himself in alcohol while being doped up on some kind of drug. Most of the time, when Silva found Bond in that situation, Bond was battered, bruised and bloody and Silva would inspect him for injuries and patch him up.

Silva should have known not to get involved, or care or sleep with him because he started falling in love until it was too late to quit him. If M knew of his attachment to Bond, Silva didn’t know what she would do. She raised them to be her tools, not humans capable of being in love. Sentiment was not needed. It could get them and others killed in the field.

Yeah, that was stupid.

Bond didn’t care about anything but his mission. By now, he probably had gone to bed while Silva stood here, thinking about him, aching for him.

As if on cue, Silva heard the door quietly open and shut. He turned and found Bond standing by the door, slightly damp from a recent shower, all cleaned up, naked and unadorned with only a smile as his defensive weapon. Slowly, Silva swept his gaze over Bond’s body, his gaze lingering on the scar above his heart and on his side, the marks of her willingness to discard her favorite son like a used rag and Bond’s foolishness for returning to England instead of staying ‘dead’.

Bond didn’t display any sight of discomfort, his back straight, his arms relaxed on his side, although his nipples were erected from the cold and there were goose bumps on his skin.

“Like what you see?”

Silva snorted even though the urge to touch him was strong.

In the golden light of his room, Bond’s eyes were bright. “If you don’t want to sleep with me, I will ask Ronson.”

Silva recognized the name; Ronson was Bond’s old partner. He had underestimated Bond’s ability to understand him and use it to his advantage.

Subduing the fierce edge of his jealousy, Silva let out a wide smile that showed his teeth, slipping into his 00 persona as he padded to the bed upon which he sat with his legs apart.

“Come here.” Silva beckoned with his fingers. By asking Bond to come to him, he was giving Bond a chance to change his mind and leave.

Bond walked with a practice seductive swing of his hips and flipped his imaginary long hair. There was little left of Bond that he’d known and while Bond’s gesture said he wanted Silva, Silva probably could be any other faceless man.

When Bond was about an arm’s length away, Silva snatched his slender wrist and jerked him forward into his lap. Bond let out a startled gasp and stiffened.

“Keep at it and I may hurt you,” he growled in Bond’s ear.

“Is that supposed to be a threat? Because I may enjoy that.”

Silva rubbed a circle on his cold back, focusing on warming him up. “Don’t play this game with me, Bond. I don’t like what she asked you to do.”

“I made my own choice.”

“Is that what you think? Are you so eager to whore yourself out for England?”

Bond, who had gone quiet, seemed to withdraw emotionally. He sucked in a breath and glanced at Silva again as Silva’s palm slid up his inner thigh. Silva could feel the moment Bond’s training kicked in. He spread his legs, leaned back into the touch and moaned, his breathing becoming even and modulated.

“Not going to say anything?” A sharp nip on Bond’s earlobe followed the words. “You slut.”

That elicited a response in the form of a tremble that resonated through Bond’s body. Bond spoke in a quiet voice, contradicting to the heat in his words. “What made you think you are better than me? Constantly trying to prove yourself. Overzealous to get her approval. And she still doesn’t see you. Is that why you like me so much? Would you kill me at the first chance you get? Would you?”

Fingers which had been playing with Silva’s hair casually moved to his neck. Silva didn’t doubt for once that if he let his defense down, Bond could kill him if he wanted.

“Oh, how I love you, Bond.” Silva laughed, twisting Bond’s arms behind his back roughly and hugging him more tightly.

Bond hissed at the rough treatment but didn’t fight him. “I love you too.”

There was sincerity in his voice, which gave Silva pause before he remembered not to trust anything Bond said. Lie. Lie. It was all a lie. And that both saddened and angered him because he badly wanted to believe that he was the centre of Bond’s world as much as Bond was the centre of his.

He kissed Bond then almost tenderly even as he entered Bond roughly with a finger. Bond’s back arching, his moan got lost in the kiss. Silva squeezed in a second finger and this time, Bond broke off their kiss, the hiss escaping from Bond’s lips more real than anything he’d said today. Silva explored further inside him where the heat was most dizzying. Bond’s inner wall was barely wet, the channel clinging tightly around Silva’s fingers.

“Need to try harder than that if you want my cock that much.”

Bond ducked his head as if in embarrassment. Or so Silva thought right before he realized Bond was thinking about giving him a blowjob.

He jerked Bond upright and to his knees. “No.”

“You’ve never said ‘no’ to my mouth before.” Bond huffed, disappointment clearly in his tone.

“I’m saying ‘no’ now. That isn’t what I want today.”

“I don’t suppose you want to force yourself on me and make me cry instead?” Bond quipped sarcastically, but the effect was ruined by his hitched breath when Silva crooked his fingers.

“That is so dull because you don’t even know how to cry honestly, Bond. I think I want you to enjoy having me as your first.”

“You’re hardly the first.”

“I think I’m hurt,” Silva mocked Bond, kissing his flat stomach, feeling the muscles trembling under his lips. “Maybe you should go and ask Ronson, hm? Is he a good fuck?”

Bond’s fingers pushed painfully into his shoulders. “I don’t want Ronson. I want you.”

Steely anger filled Silva at the lie. He tossed Bond on the bed and pinned him down with the weight of his body. Bond looked momentarily surprised, his eyes blown wide and his mouth parted, allowing Silva to seal his mouth over Bond’s. Then Bond’s eyelids lowered, his arms curling around Silva’s neck, and he started kissing back.

“Don’t,” Silva said when they separated some minutes later. “Don’t say that or I will start believing you.”

“Then why don’t you?” Bond squirmed, not to get away but to rub against him, his breasts small and firm, his body curvy and soft instead of flat-planed and hard. One of Silva’s hands wrapped around Bond’s thin wrists, the other set on his little stomach, effectively holding him down.

Bond hissed in irritation and tried to get Silva’s pants down with his feet. Silva watched him struggle against the hold as his frustration mounted and gradually turned to desperation. As unsavory as the thought might be, there was something satisfying about having Bond restrained and helpless under him.

“Silva,” Bond whispered, the inflection in his voice just right. “Please.” He relaxed against the sheet, blinked slowly and turned his face to one side to bare his neck to Silva.

The vulnerable act was almost convincing. It wasn’t needed. He’d pushed Silva far enough that Silva wanted nothing more than pushing his legs apart and just sliding his cock. But, despite his disbelief, he let go of Bond’s wrists and the moment Bond was free, he immediately locked his arms around Silva’s chest and turned until he was on top.

How predictable, Bond.

Silva was about to make a sarcastic remark when Bond reached behind for his cock and sunk down. Tight heat roughly enveloped him, friction just too much to bear. Silva let out a groan and grabbed Bond’s straining thighs to slow him down for both of them. He expected Bond to fight him again but Bond just bent forward and lay down on his chest, breathing heavily.

“Why is everything so difficult with you?”

Silva held him gently for a moment and kissed his sandy hair. “You’re being stupid.”

“Look who is talking.”

Silva placed an index finger on Bond’s lips to keep him quiet. “No more lies,” he said with his eyes and stroked Bond’s face as he started pushing deeper inside Bond with a careful slide.

With his arms bracing on Silva’s sides, Bond pressed down with each upward thrust of Silva’s hips, his channel growing slicker and more welcoming but the noises he was making were quiet, more like exhaled breath than sounds.

The slow and gentle pace was good at first until they both needed something more. When Silva rolled them over so that Bond was once again pinned under him and slammed in roughly, Bond moaned loudly and clutched his shoulders. Silva pried his hands away to link their fingers together, pressed a rough kiss into Bond’s mouth and started a hard and fast pounding.

Bond’s body twisted and arched, his legs clamping around Silva’s waist to pull him in, his heels digging into Silva’s back. Silva was aware of the heartbeats and the vibrations under his skin in addition to the delicious grip around his cock.

“Silva…” Bond groaned, jerked and hissed. “You fucking arsehole.”

“Is that another way of saying you love me?” Silva licked the underside of Bond’s jaw and dragged the head of his cock over the front wall of his channel. “I think I feel the same way.”

Bond all but shuddered and when Silva plunged into him again, his muscles squeezed tight around Silva and quickly, he came undone with Silva’s name on his lips. Silva rode Bond’s orgasm and rocked into him to his own climax.

Bond was still trembling slightly in the aftermath by the time Silva pulled out and checked him for blood. There was no red spot on the sheet and inside, Bond was sloppy with only semen and his own juice.

“I’m waiting for a degrading insult,” Bond rasped.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bond was flushed from his chest to the roots of his hair, and Silva couldn’t tell if that was from the accusation or their earlier exertion.

“I will kill whoever that touches my little whore.”

Bond smiled, his eyelids lowering. “That’s a little extreme even for you.”

Silva chuckled on the way to the bathroom. Once he came out with a towel, Bond was dozing off. He didn’t stir when Silva cleaned him off but lazily tried to respond to a kiss. That night, Bond stayed and didn’t leave Silva’s bed until morning arrived.


End file.
